December Fifth
by Ms.Brightside SH
Summary: Mystrade go ice skating. Continuation of December Second ;) Fifth story in my adventcalendar...


_AN: Little mystrade story, hope you all enjoy! Special thanks to my beta :)_

"You really don't have to do this," Greg said, embarrassed. Mycroft just smiled and didn't answer. Greg sighed. "I'm not actually that lonely, you know? You don't have take me out because you pity me." Still no reply.

"Fine, where are we going, anyways?" Mycroft's smile widened.

"You'll see," he promised.

"Somehow, this doesn't make me feel any better about this whole thing." Greg murmured.

Mycroft just quickened his pace, so Greg had to jog to keep up with him.

They had already sat in Mycroft's car for half an hour, and while the conversation had been entertaining as well as interesting, Mycroft had refused to tell Greg anything about their destination or his plans for the day.

"When I called and asked if you were free for the day and would like to spend it with me, you said yes," he'd reminded Greg. "Don't be so impatient, Gregory."

Now they were walking through fields, the car long since out of their sight, and Greg was starting to really feel the cold.

"I always forget how much warmer it can be inside the city," he grumbled.

"Up to five degrees, to be precise," Mycroft nodded. "Are you uncomfortable?", he added, obviously concerned. "We can go back, if you are too cold."

Greg snorted. "You wish. I won't let you get out of this now. I bet you hoped for me to chicken out, probably there isn't even anything out there in the middle of nowhere."

Mycroft tried to look affronted, but his mouth twitched. "I can assure you, I have neither done nor planned anything of the sort," he said with dignity. "Besides, we're almost there. If you listen closely, you can hear it."

Greg frowned and tried to walk as quietly as possible over the frozen grass.

Indeed, he could hear the faint sound of children laughing. He had not the faintest idea what to make of it though...except..."Mycroft? Are you taking me ice skating?"

"Oh, very good, Gregory," Mycroft said. Greg swallowed. He hadn't gone ice skating in years.

They walked through a group of trees and then they could see a frozen lake with children skating on it, laughing and shouting. Greg swallowed again.

"I think we might be just a tad too old for this," he said uncertainly.

"Nonsense." Mycroft waved his hand dismissively.

"I know you've been wanting to do this for quite some time now, even when you were still married.

Your wife wouldn't go with you, and forbid your daughter from going as well.

Greg groaned. "How did you...you know what, never mind, you're not Sherlock, I actually enjoy your company, and of course you are right, so why bother?"

He scrubbed a hand through his hair.

"Theresa broke both her legs on an ice rink when she was six. I could never convince her to enter one again, and she wouldn't allow our daughter, either. She would've let me, I suppose, but that's nothing I wanted to do alone, or with my mates, you know?"

"I agree," Mycroft said. "I have skates in the bag. Let's give it a try."

"Fine," Greg sighed, more than a bit excited. He chucked off his shoes and put on the skates. Very old fashioned ones, made from black leather, just like the ones he used to have as a boy, and of course they fit perfectly. Greg didn't ask. With Mycroft, it was rather sweet that he knew all these things about Greg. He never bragged or called Greg an idiot, like Sherlock would.

When they both had put their skates on, they walked awkwardly a few steps through the grass and onto the lake. Greg was a little wobbly, and tried holding on to Mycroft, who didn't fare much better though. Greg chuckled. "What, you can have two nations at each others throats without even leaving your desk, but you can't _ice skate_?" Mycroft smiled back, a bit awkwardly and not at all as self confident as he usually was. Greg could feel his stomach make a little flip.

"Together, then?" he asked, taking Mycroft's hand without waiting for an answer and carefully sliding forward. Mycroft held onto Greg's hand tightly and between the two of them, they actually got into a pretty good rhythm, after a few minutes of stumbling and almost falling. Greg laughed, not letting go of Mycroft's hand, dragging him along. They were by far the oldest people on the lake, the only other adults being parents that mostly kept to the side, standing around the lake, talking and drinking punch. They looked oddly at Mycroft and Greg.

"Why is it that you have no problem at all making a fool out of yourself, just for me?" Greg asked, looking sideways at Mycroft.

"It's certainly not pity," Mycroft answered softly, looking at Greg in return. Greg swallowed hard and almost lost his footing. He grabbed onto Mycroft's other hand as to not fall down, and suddenly, their faces were mere inches from each other. Time seemed to have frozen. Greg could hear the laughing and screaming still, but only very faint, like through a thick blanket. He felt himself pushing Mycroft slowly over the ice, keeping both their balance. Mycroft's eyes seemed very big, his pupils dilated widely and Greg knew he had to look similar.

He carefully lowered his face, eyes never leaving Mycroft's. When their lips met, Greg wasn't at all prepared for the somersault his stomach made. It had been a long time since he'd kissed someone like this, with all the possibilities still laid out before them. Someone he had so much to learn about, someone he wasn't certain about at all. Someone who could make him feel like he was getting his second chance, possibly, maybe. Mycroft pulled back, cheeks flushed, and they resumed their hand in hand skating. Mycroft pressed Greg's hand.

"Just like I said: No pity."


End file.
